Callous to the bone...

[Rheawien]

Even though their safety seemed to be ensured by Altair’s presence, Rheawien couldn’t help but react instinctively once her gaze was met with at least a dozen, all belonging to bloodsuckers. Because there was hunger in those eyes, the animalistic kind that waited like an arrow knocked into a bow, the kind that made it clear that these vampires knew nothing of the alliance forged back at the campsite. Altair obviously saw this tension as well, his voice uttering words that she couldn’t comprehend. It seemed like a form of elven, though archaic and less mellisonant, trading suavity for rawer power. One of the vampires obviously didn’t like what he was hearing and when two others seemed to join him in this debate, Rhea thought that perhaps their introduction wouldn’t be as amicable as Altair’s. Her eyes ascertained the interior just in case they moved from words to swords.

Had she not saw the building from the outside, Rheawien could’ve hardly said that it had been a church once upon a time. There was not a single pew to be seen, no statues decorated the niches, there wasn’t even an altar on top of the dais. Instead, there was a pair of lofty chairs, one large and made of what looked like platinum decorated with rubies, and the other made of ornate polished wood. The larger one was occupied by a woman garbed in a dark purple gown made of velvety, translucent material that spread all around the foot of her chair. Her hair was black, as black as once Rhea’s was, her face pallid save for her thin, deep blue lips. Whether or not she actually heeded the entrants and the argument that unfolded, Rheawien couldn’t cay with certainty for the whiteness of her eyes seemed to devour her irises completely. Instead of the benches for the pious folk, there was a pair of tables by which the remaining vampires rose from their chairs in expectation of the outcome of the dialogue.

It ended only when the Queen of the Lair interjected, her voice curt and penetrating. Whatever she said seemed to reconcile Altair and his comrades. When she spoke again, she used Tradespeak and she addressed the half-elf. “We welcome you to our coven, Rheawien. I am Martea, and I thank you for your help in these dire times for us. Please, take a seat. And don’t worry; you are safe here.” Though she spoke softly, there was something eerily in the words and the manner in which they were spoken. They were both a plea and a commandment, spiced with unnatural charm that surpassed even the melodious voices of the elven bards. It was a voice that made you want to submit.

“Indeed. Come, we have much to discuss.” Altair led the way towards the pair of thrones, handing over the makeshift sack filled with Krugor’s bones about at the same time that the skeleton posed a question. Rheawien, still uncertain about this whole situation and the shifty eyes of the nightprowlers that attended the hall, wasn’t terribly concerned with the undead’s fate for the time being.

“Hell if I know. It’s your body, you deal with it,” she said in an offhanded manner, stuffing the talking skull in with the rest of the rattling bones before slinging it over her shoulder and following the vampire leader. There was grumbling all around the hall, and murmuring, and whispers that probably spoke of the how it would be best to rip her throat apart and feast on her life blood, but Rheawien walked doggedly, pushing aside the fact that they could probably tear her asunder should they decided to attack her. Fear was her worst enemy right now. No attacks came, and when Altair lowered himself onto the smaller throne, the white-haired woman dropped the sack of bones on the table and took a seat took a seat on one of the chairs. The remaining vampires did the same, albeit reluctantly.

“I’m guessing you have some sort of a plan,” Rhea said, keeping one hand on the glaive handle and the other on the table, fiddling around with one of Krugor’s scattered bones that were now spread all over the table.

“Yes, but it rests as much on stipulation as it does on your performance,” Altair said, as solemn as if they weren’t deliberating on the plan that might make his coven or break it for good. It made Rheawien wonder whether you got robbed of emotions save for the dark ones once you became one of the accursed. “These werewolves are far too smart. We’ve seen them deploy advanced tactics, setting up ambushes, luring us with decoys. It is not in their nature to act this way.”

“Maybe they evolved. And now they’re the big fish in the pond.” The vampires didn’t seem to appreciate neither her tone nor her metaphor. Altair continued as if he only heard the first part.

“I doubt it. It is too much of a leap. You humans live what, a hundred year at most? We’ve been around for centuries, some of us for thousands of years. We know how evolution works and this is not it. It is unnatural.”

“What are you saying?”

“We believe that somebody is controlling them, or that there is an anomaly, a leader that is smarter then the rest,” Martea said, her voice more soothing then Altair’s. “We believe that it never leaves their lair. We cannot penetrate their defenses nor can we flee; they track us far too easily. We believe that you might be able to eliminate their leader.”

“You believe a lot of things,” Rheawien retorted, her words acerbic despite her attempt to soften her tone. “You also seem to believe that I can take on an entire lair of these furballs.”

“Not at all. You will not act alone,” Altair again, unmoving in his seat of gold-and-red. “We will feign an assault, drawing most of them out to meet us. Once we do so, it will be up to you.”

“This is madness! We’re placing our fate in the hands of this... this harlot.”

“Do you have a better suggestion?” Martea thundered, reprimanding the vampire that spoke, a spindly, white-haired thing with his ivory fangs clearly visible. Clearly hungry. The silence that took reign was the only answer that she got, the only answer she needed.

“It is up to you. You can walk out of here right now and we will not give chase. Or you can help us,” Altair presented her the choices. Rheawien had another in mind, the one that was never too far when you were surrounded with creatures that looked at you as if you were hors d'oeuvres.

“Or I can fight you.”

“Yes, that too. But why would you do something like that?”

Why indeed? Her mission was to rid the region of vampires and this would achieve the same result as wiping the ruins clean of them. Even better, she would be killing two birds with one stone, because if these werewolves were really such an imposing threat, they would have to be dealt with sooner or later. And later was seldom better then sooner. Procrastination was never something she was fond of anyways.

“Fine. But if I do this, you will leave this area, never to return,” she said, her tone that of a strict diplomat that issued an ultimatum.

“With so many of our kin dead, with so many painful memories, so much of our blood soaking these lands, departing would be a blessing,” the black-haired woman said, and though her voice was icy and her white eyes emotionless, Rheawien believed those words, believed it like a child believed its mother. There was an ominous air surrounding this entire situation, a grim notion of pain that seemed to riddle each and every of them. It was hard for the half-elf to believe that there were such strong emotions – such human emotions – in these things, especially after considering them nothing but wolves in human skin.

“Then it is settled.”

“What about your friend?” Altair asked, a smarmy smirk creeping at the edge of his lips.

“He’ll help as well. If we put him back together. You don’t happen to have something sticky, like tar maybe?” she said, picking up what was probably a forearm bone and throwing it lightly with her hand before tapping it on the chatty skull. “How did you mend yourself back together the last time anyways?”